


Something Else

by risotto



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After some prying and stewing, Rin tells Makoto about what happened in Australia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Else

**Author's Note:**

> For kinkmeme prompt: "The reason for Rin's big attitude change? A coach or upperclassman or both/several people at the Australian school sexually abused and manipulated him. It's really fucked him up, but Makoto is super-kind and patient with him and helps him work through it..."

The joint practice session between Iwatobi High School and Samezuka Academy went without a hitch, miraculously enough. Unlike the previous attempt, it wasn’t disastrous and the bespectacled one—Rin didn’t bother to learn his name—managed to avoid sullying the sport of swimming this time around by actually staying _above_ the water. Rumors floating around campus say he’s Iwatobi’s butterfly specialist now.

What a fucking joke.

Rin doesn’t stick around long enough to find out if there’s any truth to the rumor. It’s not important. Not anymore; he’s swimming freestyle now, and only freestyle.

His trial done, he mutters something to Seijuurou about going for a run then leaves, ignoring both the captain’s response and his time. He doesn’t care. It’s not good enough by his standards and these stupid summer camp clinics—or whatever these joint sessions Seijuurou made up are—won’t help.

Four laps around the gymnasium and an irritating side-stitch later, Rin stops to catch his breath and gather his thoughts beneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree. It’s still light outside, despite it nearing six thirty. Surefire way to tell summer’s right around the corner. The air is warm and slightly breezy. It feels good in his hair and against his skin, still cold straight out of the pool.

Reminds him a little of Perth, actually.

His eyes flutter open at the sound of feet crunching on gravel. His heart flutters, too, in fear, and his fists clench, ready to defend himself. He’s not sure what to expect and is rather surprised to see Makoto Tachibana heading his way, looking unusually glowy in the light of the setting sun. His white shirt is kind of damp; his swim bag is zipped only halfway. He must’ve hurried there after his post-practice shower. If he even bothered to take one.

“I’m sorry,” Makoto murmurs as he stops, looking unsure of what to else to do or say.

Damn Makoto, always apologizing even if he doesn’t need to. Rin relaxes his fists. “The hell do you want?”

“I came to see how you were doing.” Makoto makes his way closer and, when Rin doesn’t bite, sits a bit presumptuously close to him on a tuft of beauty bark. He stretches his long legs out in front of him and sets the swim bag down between them, like he’s planning to stay there for a while.

Knowing him, it’s likely the case.

Rin sneers. “Why?”

“You left practice so suddenly, I thought—”

“You thought what? That you could magically fix everyone’s problems like you always try to?” Rin hopes the snap and venom in his voice are enough to drive the taller young man away.

It isn’t. Not to say Makoto doesn’t look like a kicked puppy because he certainly does (and Rin briefly considers feeling a bit guilty for it), but he looks otherwise undeterred, a testament to his patience and resolve. Or some latent masochistic tendencies. Whatever.

“I thought I’d see how you were doing,” Makoto finishes softly. His head tilts. “So there’s a problem, then?”

Fuck. He doesn’t need this right now. Rin fixes him with his most menacing glare. It fails. While Nitori and most others would cower or even flee in fear, Makoto simply sits there with an expectant look on his face.

Rin looks away, unable to bear looking at the unguarded scrutiny of Makoto’s forgiving eyes. He’s had enough. Cracking his neck from side to side, he moves to stand. “As you can plainly see, I’m good. So if you don’t mind—”

 

There’s a surge of heat over his wrist, and it only occurs to him that it’s from Makoto’s hand and not some branding iron. Incensed, Rin smacks it away and recoils. “The fuck is wrong with you? Don’t touch me!”

“I’m just trying to understand—why are you pushing us away?”

Makoto’s chewing down on his bottom lip from the inside, like he always did whenever something beyond his control upset him years ago. The last time Rin saw that, they were much shorter and skinnier and exchanging solemn good-byes with Nagisa and Haruka while Rin’s family packed up the car to head to the airport.

The memory cuts deep into Rin’s chest and burns. He hisses. “I don’t have time for you. Or for Nagisa. Stop with this get-the-band-back-together bullshit. Those days are over.”

“Rin—”

Rin zips up his black windbreaker with finality, cutting him off. “Don’t come back here,” is all he says before he heads off toward the dorms.

He never looks back and Makoto doesn’t follow him.

 

\--

 

Later that evening, Rin lies awake in his bunk, on his back and unable to sleep. His phone, fully charged, is tantalizingly within reach and very distracting. The bright LED display is the only light in the dark room. It’s obnoxiously glaring despite the lack of any new messages and missed calls. A constant reminder of what he does and doesn’t do.

What he should and shouldn’t do, too.

Ironically, he’s missing Nitori’s presence if only because it’s not there to divert his thoughts from the guilt that’s been gnawing at him since his earlier run-in with Makoto. He thinks of going out for another run but doing that only makes him think of Haru and lately, he’s having trouble thinking of _him_ without thinking of a certain jolly green giant.

With an annoyed huff, he reaches over for his phone.

Makoto answers on the first ring, sounding breathless and relieved. “Rin!”

“…you’re something else, you know that?”

There is no malice in his voice, unlike earlier in the day or that night they pool-hopped at Samezuka. On the other end, he can hear Makoto smiling, can easily envision those kind eyes crinkling, and something in his chest warms.

Maybe…maybe this will be all right.

“Does this mean you’re going to talk to me?” Makoto whispers, his voice unusually deep.

Silence. Maybe this _won’t_ be all right. Maybe he’s about to make the biggest mistake of his life. Maybe—

“Rin…?”

“Samezuka Dorms, room twenty-eight. Ten o’clock.”

Then he hangs up.

\--

The door’s left unlocked—just as good as any invitation for anyone to come in—and Makoto still thinks it’s necessary to not only knock first, but to meekly announce and apologize for his intrusion. Rin’s complaint is left unsaid, though, as he stares at the other boy walking in.

Having been away from Japan for years and pointedly ignoring the closest group of friends he’s ever had since he returned, it’s easy for him to forget just how big Makoto really is. Six feet and some change. It’s not significant in the world of swimming—heck, even Seijuurou’s taller than that—but there’s something in addition to Makoto’s height that just makes him seem…bigger. Protective, almost.

He’s standing awkwardly in the doorway, the hallway light shining behind his silhouette gives the impression of a halo around him. Fitting, all things considered. Rin supposes he once had that innocent glow about him too. Years ago.

He snorts. Certainly doesn’t have it _now_.

“Shut the door,” Rin says in greeting.

“…that was the last train,” Makoto offers, wringing his hands. He’s nervous. Staying out late and far from home in someone’s private room is probably the naughtiest thing he’s ever done. It’s almost cute how innocent he is.

By contrast, Rin feels dirty, like he can’t measure up to that sort of purity. Something in him wants to corrupt Makoto, maybe dim that light of his, just so they’re on the same level. It’ll never happen, of course—but he can’t say he’s not curious about trying.

“Come over here,” he drawls.

Makoto blinks. “Rin?”

Rin’s on his bed, slouched up against the wall with his fingers steepled over his sculpted stomach. His shirt’s unbuttoned and there’s nothing beneath it. It’s dark in the room but somehow the ridges of muscle there stand out like pillars of light. And he’s looking at Makoto like he knows it.

Carefully, Makoto approaches the edge of the bed but makes no move to sit. For incentive, Rin lifts his foot and sneaks it up his pant leg and rubs it up and down Makoto’s calf, big toe brushing on the impressive curve of the muscle there. His expression remains dark, never shifting. He’s done this plenty of times before and now it’s just a matter of going through the motions—like he’s treading in familiar waters and simply waiting for the first sign of blood in the water to strike. The moment comes a breath later, when Makoto’s lips part and he lets out the softest groan…

Quick as a blur, Rin’s up and on him, sliding spindly fingers along Makoto’s cheek around to the back of his neck and pulling him closer. He can feel the taller one shivering beneath his touch; can feel the uncertainty and fear radiating off of him as their bodies collide. He’s resisting however slightly, that much Rin can tell. But it’s fine. He’ll get used to it.

Like Rin himself did, years ago.

“Rin, what are you—”

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs against his earlobe. “You’ll learn to like it.”

A shudder ripples down Makoto’s spine at that, every bump a spark against Rin’s fingertips. “Rin,” he starts, tone more tentative than actually warning.

“Ssh.”

“N-No.”

The world spins and flips over on itself. Rin’s sent stumbling back over the mattress and he’s staring dumbly up at the bunk above his for a long while before he realizes he’d been shoved. And shoved roughly. By Makoto Tachibana.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Rin, but that’s not what I came out here for.”

Confusion comes first, then anger. Then bared, serrated teeth. Rejection is akin to losing and Rin has never took either very well. Every nerve in his body flares with anger, imploring him to pound his knuckles in the center of that mopey face. Or squeeze his fingers around that neck and choke.

No. As much as he’d enjoy that for the first few seconds, he can’t deny he really doesn’t want to hurt Makoto. He doesn’t want to see him or hear him, for that matter. Except he wants him there more than anything. At least, he thought he did. Now, he’s not so sure.

He’s so fucking confused. “Get out,” he says without thinking.

Hurt flares behind Makoto’s green eyes, visible even in the dark. “Rin, you can’t—”

“I said get out of here. Now.”

“No.”

What?

“I’m not leaving,” Makoto adds when Rin’s mouth doesn’t snap shut. “You invited me here to talk and I’ll wait for however long it takes you to do it. I won’t force you to speak—I never will. But I’m not going to leave you alone like this and I won’t let you continue shutting me out, either. I’m your friend, Rin, whether you want to acknowledge that or not.”

It’s surreal, how compassionate and patient Makoto is in spite of being treated like shit—by Rin and anyone around him, really—and Rin can’t help wondering if there’s something legitimately _wrong_ with him. How can he be so kind?

And where was he years ago when Rin needed him the most?

Rin lets out a breath, not quite a sigh. “I’m not Haru,” he mutters, without explaining himself.

He doesn’t need to. Makoto’s still as keen on reading others as he was when they were kids. He smiles gently, shaking his head. “You’re right,” he says, plainly, “you’re not Haru. You’re Rin. And I still care about you, just as much.” 

Rin’s scowl flattens and he draws one knee up to his chest and lowers his chin onto it as his other leg stretches out before him. “Better get comfortable then.”

The taller boy carefully sits on the very edge of the mattress; the pressure of his weight is so light in spite of his size, it barely squeaks in protest. Rin nudges him with his toe to let him know he’s serious, and with a slight chortle, Makoto settles his butt more into the bed and lets his shoulders slump. “Better?”

“Much.” And Rin means it.

He’s not sure how to start so he just wings it, figures Makoto’s smart enough to piece things together. He starts on how he was subjected to years of silent torment by one of the senior swimmers at the school in Perth. Some nameless rich kid who wanted to be the next Ian Thorpe and always managed to get whatever he wanted, whether it meant more clinics at the school (despite posting some of the worst times) or redheads and Asians, which he had some kind of fetish for.

“Imagine his delight when he saw _me_ at the starting blocks,” Rin quips humorlessly.

He tells him how things first started innocent enough, with towel whips and ass-pats and lingering headlocks, all of which escalated into more touching and more roughhousing. Most of it unwanted. Before long, the games turned into encounters and attacks. In the showers, the pool, on the way back to the dorms—anywhere he could find Rin alone, he took him. He even tells him about one particularly bad weekend trip to see the Great Barrier Reef that left him unable to swim comfortably for the next week.

Rin tells more about the sporadic encounters over the years and to his credit, he doesn’t leave out anything, even parts that would have embarrassed or shocked Makoto to hear, or made himself sound unlike the Rin he knew. Or the Rin he ought to be. Like how he found himself wanting to do the same things to other boys, mostly out of curiosity, but never did because it honestly felt better to just sleep around instead.

Or worse yet, how he defended his assailant on a disciplinary board when he was caught doping and eventually expelled; how he felt relieved and guilty at the same time because of it.

Much to his surprise, not only does Makoto not interrupt him once, he hangs onto every word, keeping his face neutral, and only moves to offer him a pack of tissues when he hears him sniff. The gesture strikes Rin _hard_ , like a slap to the face. It’s simple and probably something Makoto’s done dozens of times without a second thought for his friends and siblings. Yet it’s the single most tender thing anyone’s done for Rin in years.

The words then just tumble out of him. Uncontrollably. All the stories of how he felt too scared to say anything to anyone out of fear _he’d_ be expelled or blamed for tarnishing the school’s squeaky clean reputation, and for helping to continue the cycle. After all, Rin didn’t _have_ to keep returning to the lion’s den if he didn’t want to. What else could he expect but for the beast to take a bite?

“…if I had said anything to anyone, it could have stopped. But I didn’t.”

“Rin,” it’s the first thing Makoto’s said in a while, and his murmured name sounds like thunder in a glass bottle. “No matter what happened or how you responded, it’s not your fault. None of it. You were in—”

“Innocent?” Rin shouts, suddenly, burying his face in his hands. “I knew it was wrong and I moaned and came anyway. I could have bitten his dick off but I didn’t want to hurt him. How the fuck am I innocent? I kept going back after each New Year’s, and I kept coming…” He chokes back a sob, his voice faltering. “…obviously I…I deserved it.”

There’s an uncomfortable, lingering silence before Makoto murmurs, “come here,” and holds out both arms.

Rin doesn’t flinch or tear away from him in fear or disgust. He accepts him, leans further into him until he’s tucked beneath his chin with the steady, strong beat of Makoto’s heart pressing against his cheek. As expected, it’s comforting.

The silence between them lingers and seems heavy after a while, but he comes up with nothing, opting to simply remain bowed, forehead bumping softly against Makoto’s broad chest as he just tries to breathe.

Another lump rises in his throat and he barely swallows it down. Then another. And another. As time passes, resisting the urge to sob becomes more difficult. Not impossible, just hard, like swimming against a current.

A small shudder rocks through him at a certain memory of the sea and, hesitantly, he reaches up to return the hug, inhaling shakily as he does so. They fit together nicely. They’re both stone-still until Makoto’s hand touches his spine and his strong fingers, capable of slicing through water, begin to softly stroke him.

“It’s okay,” Makoto whispers against his temple, “you’re safe now, Rinrin.”

And at that point something within Rin just crumbles. It’s admittedly liberating, if not something he’d be embarrassed about later, but for now, it’s just what he needs.

A pained sob escapes him before the wetness pricks his eyes. For a time, all he can do is just cry openly against Makoto, fingers tangled up in the fabric of his shirt. Every now and then he catches himself getting a little louder than he’d ever want to be, so he tries to speak…only to lose the words in a moan, and burrow his face back against the other boy’s chest to repeat it all again.

Rin quiets, eventually. It’s still dark outside when the tears have dried in streaks and he doesn’t want to lift his head long enough to glance at his phone. He’s not even sure how long he’s been that way. He doesn’t care, really. It just feels better.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into his shirt.

“I’m very sorry, Rin. I had no idea…”

“There’s more,” Rin sniffs. “Lots more. Not… _you know_ , but more fucked up shit because of it.”

“Mm.”

“Not gonna probe around for more?”

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” Makoto says in that simple, soothing voice of his.

Rin snorts. It sounds like a sniffle instead. “What makes you think I’ll even say more?”

Makoto hums in thought, lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “True, you might not say anything else, and that’s fine.” His fingers have yet to stop stroking Rin’s back. “I’m glad you trusted me enough to have told me this much, though.”

“…you’re something else, you know that?”

They remain there together until dawn comes. Rin doesn’t tell him more and Makoto doesn’t ask.


End file.
